John Endor was too elemental to give overmuch thought to the Mrs. Wilbers of life. All the same, he had humor enough to appreciate his hostess’ sovereign faculty of “putting her foot in it.” Dinner had hardly begun when she was openly rebuked by a clever, charming, unconventional young daughter seated opposite Mr. Endor, for announcing “that it gave her so much pleasure to find that gentlemen were still to be found in politics.” “Really, mother!” Miss Clarice reproved her with the very latest Oxford inflection. Mrs. Wilber shifted her ground a little, although maintaining the general position by asking after “dear Lady Elizabeth.” She herself claimed to be of solid Middleshire county stock; indeed, one of her father’s properties marched with Wyndham, and she was able to remember John’s own father being acclaimed as one of the best men to hounds of his generation. “And I hear you are going to be married, Mr. Endor.” Rather a blow this, to Miss Clarice, who brought her charming nose to the menu card before attacking a curry. She bore up very well, in spite of the fact that she had already told herself privately that she would have to consider the question of marrying Mr. John Endor. He was good to look at certainly, his low voice a delight, there was not a hint of stiffness or formality about him, and, crowning joy, he had a sense of humor. “How exciting!” Only a very little curry was needed for Miss Clarice to effect a superb, if rather stoical, recovery. “Do tell me. Who is the lady?” “Miss Helen Sholto of Virginia, my dear.” Mrs. Wilber had seen the announcement in the _Morning Post_, and had known how to cherish it in a manner becoming a prime minister’s lady. “But tell me, Mr. Endor, what does dear Lady Elizabeth say?” In she went again, horse, foot, and artillery. “Virginia is in the south, I believe, which is not the _moneyed_ part of America. But all Americans, of course, have money.” A look of blank despair settled upon Miss Clarice, who was inclined to see her mother, not in terms of Mrs. Gladstone, but in terms of Mrs. Dizzy. John Endor enjoyed his dinner all the same and so did Miss Clarice. The talk was really quite amusing. Mr. Williams himself was a model host and no mean conversationalist. He went back a long way. Even in Victorian times he had been in the inner circle of society and politics. He had a fund of anecdote which no man living knew better how to employ. He was always geniality itself, and on occasions of modest festivity in the bosom of his family he was wholly delightful. It was in the library, however, after dinner that John Endor really found himself at grips with Fate. Ushered into an armchair, strategically disposed so that the bust of Pitt should be on his right and a set of the Encyclopedia Britannica on his left, two adjuncts indispensable to the library of Number 10 Downing Street, and duly furnished with an excellent cigar, the neophyte settled himself to hear golden words.